


Falling Apart (Is Easy In Your Hands)

by sampage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftercare, And maybe a good scene, BDSM, Dom Greg Lestrade, Dom/sub, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Needs a Hug, Safe Sane and Consensual, Soft Dom Lestrade, Sub Mycroft, Subdrop, Subspace, They deserve good things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sampage/pseuds/sampage
Summary: After his divorce is finalised, Lestrade can finally admit to himself that he has needs he hasn't allowed himself to take care of in years. He signs up to a D/s service providing help to subs who need a scene. When the long awaited call finally comes, he is met with an unexpected client who has a tricky history. Things don't exactly go as smoothly as planned.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 28
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there! 
> 
> I gave up writing my dystopian novel (because who can write a dystopia when we live in one? Apologies to my agent!) for some sweet Mystrade escapism. Warnings and tags apply for future chapters. 
> 
> Please do introduce yourself in the comments, if you like. I think we could all do with a virtual Hello and squish.

Gregory Lestrade didn't consider himself to be a man of many secrets. In fact he would go as far as to say that he was an open book for the most part. Except one. Everyone had to have one secret, right? Life would surely feel a bit silly without secrets, things that only belonged to yourself. The idea that his secret would spin out of control never crossed his mind. Not until things started to happen. And happen they did.

Between the last separation and the actual divorce, Greg had to admit to himself that he had actual needs that hadn't been met in, well, _years_. Things were different when he'd still tried to make a go of his marriage. It had been a compromise then. She wasn't into it, and he certainly wasn't going to push for it. Consent superceded his other needs, always. _Always._ And that had been enough. He forgot about his own constant need to care for and nurture someone. He forgot the scenes he had enjoyed long before he got married. (Not quite that long, if he was honest with himself.) He forgot the itch he felt when he thought of ropes, and bondage; he learned not to crave seeing someone kneel for him. Submission, freely given, was a gift. Greg had been a keen study, and his Training Dom had spent plenty of time explaining these things. Tom. He missed Tom, too. They weren't even friends, but Tom understood this thrumming that ran through his veins, the need to take care of someone. And for a while, marriage did that for him. The wife was someone to take care of. All the physical stuff wasn't strictly necessary, was it? She didn't like any of it, and that was okay. With time, they'd found increasingly fewer things they had in common. Well before the cheating started (to his knowledge), Greg had to admit that things weren't working out. The realisation only made him crave these missing aspects more.   
As painful as a separation, and now divorce, felt, it was also a relief. He could put himself back together. Maybe put himself back out there, find someone. At least for a few nights. 

It took him all of two weeks after the papers were signed before he signed up for the service. The ad had read, _Experienced Dominants Wanted_. Greg had experience, several years' worth, so he replied. It wasn't until after the vetting process that he learned more about what he had signed up for. Submissives looking for some help would call in, and after completing the longest questionnaire regarding his own limits he had ever seen, he was matched. He'd get a call to confirm if someone requested his help, be sent a profile and would make his decision. Maybe it was because of his work, and what he saw on the job every day, or maybe it was simply his nature, but it appealed to him that consent seemed to be the most important thing in the whole affair. (He didn't allow himself to think about how he felt like that had been taken from him in a way with the cheating.) 

No calls came. Greg imagined himself sitting in a plush hotel chair, waiting for the door to open to reveal a faceless stranger. No calls came. He thought about the limits and interests he had indicated, how his skin crawled with the need to be in control, to have a willing person beneath himself. No calls. His arm shook as he held himself up against the shower while his free hand moved over his length, eyes fluttering while he imagined someone straining against binds, straining _towards him_. 

It didn't bother him that his overactive imagination only conjured up men. He struggled with several things, but thankfully his sexuality wasn't one of them - hadn't been for ages. 

Things continued in this fashion for a while. Furious wanks under the shower or in his own big, empty bed. Daydreams over dinner and at work. Distracted glances while Sherlock talked his actual ear off and John smiled indulgently. Until his whole world stopped when he got the call. 

  
"Gregory?" 

"Speaking. Who is this?" As if he didn't know. The number was saved, of course, and he had been waiting for the call for weeks, months. 

"It's Lisa Mengal. I just sent you a profile. It's a bit of a...," She stopped herself. The pause caused Greg's heart to skip a beat, even if he wasn't sure why.

"Do you remember the client I told you about who had issues with the Dom we had to ban? It's him. He's in a tight spot, needs someone in the next hour. High profile job, something in the public service sector."

By now Greg had managed to open his laptop and was reading through the file Lisa had sent. "He's a government worker, isn't he? Reads like one anyway." 

She huffed on the other end. "You _are_ good at this." 

Greg chortled. "I'm a detective, Lisa. Reading people is what I do."

"So you'll do it?" The hope in her voice was palpable. 

"It's my first meeting. You sure you don't want to call one of the more experienced Doms instead? With what he experienced last time, and all?" It wasn't that he didn't want to go, but if he messed this up he'd never get a call again, he was sure of it. 

"He specifically requested a nurturing Dom, Greg. You're as perfect a match as there'll be. If you think this is too much for your first time, it's OK but-"

"No," he interrupted her, a bit too loudly. "I'm up for it. I mean it. Send him my profile, I'll be on my way as soon as you send the approval." 

Lisa sighed. "Be ready in 10. I'll send a car for you. Bring soft fabrics, if you can." 

Before he could ask what fabrics exactly he was meant to bring, the line went dead. Greg jumped into action without a second thought, forced a lid on his giddy excitement, and rushed to his bedroom. 

The approval came ten minutes later, on the dot. Lisa was nothing if not punctual. _Bless those Germans_ , he thought as he packed a blanket, on top of the pillow he'd already stored away in his bag. He'd also picked out a few toys and restraints, but the sub sounded distressed, if anything. Cream, water, snacks. He knew that scenes always took place in a hotel, but he'd rather not have to call for room service when giving aftercare. The bag was just about zipped up when the driver rang his bell.

The nerves didn't kick in until the car stopped outside a hotel that was posh enough for Greg to recognise the name. High-end, 5 stars and all. In any other situation he'd feel out of place, but his focus was on different things now. The driver told him to go to the reception and ask for Room 729. Greg smiled to himself. Did that kind of thing really work in the real world?  
With the keycard in hand mere moments later, he had to admit that it did. Apparently money and influence made people forget all sorts of things. It was for the best in this case, he guessed.

Once he was outside the right door (he checked three times), he took a moment and put his bag on the floor. Rubbing his hands together, he made sure that his breathing was calm. He'd need to be steady. Calm. Nurturing. He'd read the client's brief over and over on the drive to the hotel. Nothing sexual. Skin contact. Kneeling. As far as scenes went, this was straightforward. Except for the bit where the last Dom had lost control and the client Dropped with no aftercare in sight. Greg winced and knocked before he could talk himself out of it. 

Pushing the door open with a smile, he said, "Hey! I'm Greg. How are you doing?" 

And then several things occurred to him at once. How the back turned to him looked vaguely familiar. As did the neck and hair. And how the posture (ramrod straight, shoulders tense, arms pressed against the wall and shaking visibly) told him everything he needed to know about how the man was doing. Or at least enough. How that umbrella by the door looked so familiar it made him stop for a moment. 

The dots didn't connect until the client turned around and he was met with the far too pale freckles of one Mycroft Holmes. The stress on his face melted away only to be replaced by shock and then, to Greg's absolute horror, fear. Mycroft's eyes widened and he took a step back, clearly trying to bring more distance between the two of them. 

_Fuck_ , was the only thing Greg could think. He had no idea what Mycroft Holmes looked like in subspace, but he sure as hell recognised a Drop when he saw one. It broke his heart on the spot. _Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg talks Mycroft out of his panic and they settle down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the deal: Not only do I suck at angst, I also suck at writing slow-build, so there shall be none of that. This might just turn into the fluffiest BDSM-inspired story the archive has ever seen. I regret nothing. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the love, I didn't really expect that. I hope you're all being very gentle with yourselves at the moment.

For a moment, they both stood frozen to the spot. Greg kept his eyes on Mycroft's face, trying to gauge his reaction. Ideally he would prefer if the man didn't run but he knew that running was likely to be the only thing on the other's mind right now. His movements steady and calm, he lodged the room card in the slit next to the lights. It was bright enough still for them not to need them on, but he wanted to make it clear that he had no intention of going anywhere else. Taking two steps into the room, he dropped the bag carefully next to a chair. With his hands now free, he had to talk himself out of fidgeting nervously. That wouldn't help. 

"Hello Mycroft." 

His voice had an almost booming quality to it in the eerie, tense silence of the room. It made Mycroft press even further back against the wall next to the large windows, until his back was flat against the surface. Deciding not to take the reaction personally, Gregory had to acknowledge that there was nothing unusual about his response. If their roles had been reversed, Greg thought he would have been much the same. Even now the elder Holmes' face was completely calm. It was the fear in his eyes that made Greg catch his breath. 

"I understand why you don't want me here. This part of your life is separate, isn't it? I know that's how I imagined it for myself. I didn't see them mixing. But here we are."

While he spoke, Greg took two steps to the side and perched himself on the armchair. His hands curled together in his lap, but he didn't dare look away from the other man. The need to look at anything _but_ was strong, almost too strong, but he had an inkling that his words were the only thing that kept Mycroft tethered to the room. Glancing down to the man's hands, Greg noticed them clenching and unclenching. And - 

"You're still shaking." 

Before his mouth closed around the last word, he already knew that it had been the wrong thing to say. Mycroft's eyes darted to the door, flickered back to Greg and finally closed. The detective felt like all the air had been sucked out from the room, he couldn't breathe. Until Mycroft took two long strides to where his coat and case were, suddenly all motion. Greg inhaled on a low hiss and rose quickly. Before he could get a single word out, Mycroft chose to speak. 

"You won't mention this to anyone. Anyone."

Greg knew that the tone was meant to be threatening, but the government official had missed the mark. Instead it was a plea. He shook his head at the man's back. 

"You don't need to threaten me. I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't. I'm not one to blab." 

Silence settled between them once more. Greg wondered if they were both thinking back to all the times Mycroft had found himself in a chair across from him at the Yard, after yet another overdose on Sherlock's part. They'd had an unspoken agreement that it wouldn't leave Greg's office, and it hadn't. He willed his thoughts back to the present moment, clawing for a word, an idea, anything to make the other man stay. By the time he swallowed around the lump in his throat and opened his mouth, Mycroft was by the door and reached for his umbrella. 

Once again, time seemed to stand still. Mycroft stayed where he was. His arm lifted, but instead of reaching for the doorknob, he pressed his palm flat against the door. From behind him, Greg saw the trembling in his fingers clearly. Oh sweetheart, the thought came unbidden and stayed persistently. Against his better judgement, he stepped up to the sub and placed a warm hand on Mycroft's shoulder. He expected the slight jump. What he hadn't expected was the way the man's forehead sagged against the door. Greg was painfully aware that he hadn't received consent for anything, literally anything, but the idea of pulling back now felt even worse than that. He kept one hand on the shoulder and wrapped his other arm around Mycroft's front, planting his hand firmly on his chest. And just like that he had his arms full of a softly keening, deflated Mycroft. 

"Okay. You're fine. Why don't you give me your bag and coat, huh?" Mycroft tensed up again, and Greg was quick to add, "No, it's all good. Look, there's a coat hanger just here, and you can leave your bag here, too. It'll both be right by the door when you want to leave. Do you want to leave right now?" 

They remained quiet for a while. Mycroft shifted his head a bit, and Greg realised belatedly that he was trying to lean against him. With the man's head resting against his own, and his hand still pressed against his front, the Dom felt his lips twitching into a smile. His arms had been aching for this for a long time. Pulled out of his reverie as Mycroft moved his head side to side in the negative, he accepted the coat that was handed to him. 

"Thank you. But next time you'll give me a verbal reply, please." 

This time Mycroft didn't tense because of fear but because of the slight reprimand in Gregory's voice. The Dom kept his voice gentle enough to ensure that it didn't scare Mycroft off again, but he still needed to understand how important his verbal assent was. Mycroft swallowed audibly. 

"Y-yes."

"Well done, love. That's good. Let's put that bag down and get you back into the room and settled, what do you say? Let's get you comfortable." 

With every time Mycroft pressed back against Greg, the detective's heart seemed to double in size. He kept his arms around Mycroft as he hung up his coat. Even as they turned around, he stayed just behind him. Unless indicated otherwise, he had no intention of letting go of the man. Partly because he seemed incredibly keen for affection, but mostly, if he was honest with himself, because he was desperate for the contact himself. They made their way back into the room slowly and stopped by the chair, just as Greg had done previously. He reached down for his bag and lifted it up on the the arm of the chair, unzipping it as he spoke. 

"Now, usually I would start a meeting like this with a talk about limits and kinks, figuring out what you need." He was interrupted by what sounded like a whimper. "But I doubt that you are in the headspace for that. I just want to get you comfortable and settled. See that your mind calms a bit, yeah?"

He paused, accepted Mycroft's soft mumble of assent. Not entirely verbal, really, but he'd accept it. 

Taking a fortifying breath, he continued, "Would you like to kneel for me?"

Mycroft's reaction was instantaneous. He grasped Greg's arm and nodded. "Yes, yes, please, please let me, sir, please-"

Mouth agape, Greg didn't even have time to consider that the way Mycroft uttered the word sir was everything, everything he had ever dared to hope for. Instead he hushed and calmed him, hands moving over his shoulders and arms. 

"Okay, got you. Kneeling it is. Let me get the pillow-" 

"There's plenty here," came another interruption. 

"So eager," Greg laughed softly. "But you're right. There are plenty pillows. And comfy looking ones, too, right? You're missing one thing though. Do you know what you're missing?" 

The sight of Mycroft biting his lip nervously shot right to Greg's heart. He shook his head in reply, and Greg chuckled fondly. 

"For as long as you are in this room, or unless you tell me otherwise, I am your Dom. I will have you kneel on what is mine." 

Mycroft shuddered against him and Greg had a hard time not reacting to it. Instead he inhaled deeply and pressed his chin against the man's shoulder. His hands were loosely wrapped around the other's wrists. The pillow was already placed on the floor next to the chair, just off to the side so that he could still sit comfortably. He could feel the sub swaying against him, and pressed his hand against his front just as he had before, in an attempt to steady him. 

"Go on, then. Take your shoes off and kneel for me, whenever you're ready." The order hung in the air as Mycroft moved away to toe his shoes off. 

Greg waited patiently until he was settled on his knees. Even then he seemed to fidget; shifting his balance from one knee to the other, fingers curling and flexing, and eyes darting around for something to focus on. When he didn't settle after a few minutes, Greg placed a warm hand on the back of the man's neck. 

"Settle, Mycroft." 

He stilled immediately. With eyes closed, he leaned his head back into Greg's touch and let out a long breath. The only thing visible on the handsome face was relief now, and it made the Dom's heart soar. He couldn't hope for anything more. Well, yes, he could. By God, he hoped there would still be a scene, but for now, after such a horrid start to their encounter, he was blissfully happy. They remained like this for a few beats, allowing their minds to settle into the comfortable silence of the room. Eventually he removed his hand long enough to step around Mycroft (ignoring, as best as he could, the soft whine). Gregory Lestrade had never felt more comfortable in his skin than he did right now, sitting in a posh armchair with Mycroft Holmes kneeling by his side. Tilting his head to the side, he surveyed the man in front of him.

"You called me sir earlier." 

Mycroft had had his eyes closed until then but let them fly open now as his cheeks flushed. It wasn't a question, and he chose to keep quiet. Greg hummed. 

"Is that the name you would like to use for me? I am not fussed either way. It's about what you're comfortable with. The only thing I ask is that you don't choose something for my sake." 

"Greg doesn't feel right for this. Sir is more fitting." The confidence in Mycroft's tone made Greg smile. 

"Very well. You have already noticed that I prefer to use endearments, of course. Unless you object to it, naturally, I'll keep doing that. Besides, you deserve to have someone show you affection. That's what you asked me here for, isn't it? After all I wasn't asked to bring whips and chains." _Today, in any case_ , his mind added ever so helpfully. 

His eyes took in the way Mycroft's lids remained half-lidded, and how he leaned forward just so. He was clearly slipping under, and it was a sight to behold. Greg moved both hands under the man's suit jacket. Mycroft caught his drift and leaned his head against Greg's shoulder while he slipped his arms out of the jacket. Next, the Dom reached for his sleeves and unfastened the cufflinks. 

"These are stunning, love. But let's roll these sleeves up, I want you to have some room to move." Greg sat back a few minutes later and took in his handiwork. 

If Mycroft had been beautiful to look at before, he was breaktaking now. He knelt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands resting easily on the tops of his thighs. Every so often he blinked slowly. There was an almost sleepy look on his face. 

"Are you comfortable like that, darling?" Greg asked softly. 

He'd expected a nod, but instead he watched Mycroft shake his head hesitantly. The Dominant's fingers slid across his cheek in a gentle caress.

"What do you need?" 

"Closer," came the slow reply. 

"You want to be closer still? Where do you want to be, love?" 

"'Tween your legs," Mycroft said after a moment, cheeks a delightful pink. Oh, Greg couldn't wait to see more of that colour on him. 

He reached his hands down to Mycroft's and helped him up. He should have checked beforehand, really. Having a submissive get up after they'd already settled was far from ideal, but they were still getting used to each other. 

"Show me where you want to be, love. Take the pillow." 

One hand stayed on Mycroft's arms - he didn't look all that steady, really - but he forced to relax back and let Mycroft do it all himself. After some hesitation and shuffling around, Mycroft dropped the pillow between Greg's legs. Following the unspoken request, he spread his legs enough to make room for the man. With a sigh, Mycroft sank back down into his previous position and shuffled a bit closer still. He turned his head a bit and pressed it to the inside of Greg's thigh. Both arms came up and around one of Greg's legs each, pulling them a bit closer. Finally satisfied, Mycroft let out a sigh that sounded so content Greg found himself blinking back tears. 

His hands moved into Mycroft's hair instantly, fingers curling around soft strands. The position looked and felt strangely sensual, but nothing about Mycroft's obvious vulnerability was arousing to him. The Dom's head fell back against the armchair and he closed his eyes for a few moments. Everything about this was sheer perfection. The incessant need just beneath his skin had calmed, his heart seemed to beat as one with the man's in front of him. 

He couldn't have said if minutes or hours passed before he lifted his head again and looked back down at his charge. So that's what your face looks like in subspace. One finger ran over Mycroft's cheek to get his attention. The sub lifted his face from where it was still pressed against Greg's thigh but he didn't quite manage to open his eyes. Greg's heart squeezed with how adorable it all was. 

"What's your colour, sweetheart?" 

He huffed out a laugh when Mycroft turned his face back against his leg instead of answering. Before he could admonish the man for ignoring him, he heard him mumble. 

"Green. Greengreengreen." 

It took Greg a moment before he understood why his trousers felt wet. Mycroft was crying. He wrapped his hand around the man's neck and squeezed in quiet comfort. 


End file.
